It's Been a Long Day
by brianoftheforest
Summary: Together, they cope. (Our beloved crew in the aftermath of Narada.)


It had been a long day.

More accurately, a long three days. Or, if you wanted to be even more accurate, you could just quote Spock and say, "The length of each Earth day is comprised of exactly twenty-four hours, therefore it is incorrect to assume that one is longer than the other. But bringing into account a human's emotional and mental response to a seemingly endless stream of stressful incidents, I can somewhat understand the term. Therefore, it has been without a doubt, a very long three days four hours and twenty five minutes."

Speaking of the Vulcan, Nyota wondered where he was. She hoped he was getting some sleep. Vulcans didn't need as much rest as your average human, but with the Narada Incident only hours behind them, even Spock had to take a break sometime.

She leaned back in her chair and sighed.

The bridge was quiet. Very much like the channels over Vulcan before everything was destroyed. _While_ it was being destroyed.

The shiver started at her tailbone and worked it's way up her spine until her entire body was consumed with ice. She leaned forward onto her elbows and dug her heels into her eyes.

She had been trained for this. There had been simulations where she had to filter through the screams and panic-ridden voices to find something barely intelligible. She knew how do deal with panic.

But nothing could have prepared her for the utter silence that marked the death of billions.

Her relief came, nodding in greeting. She smiled as she stood up. Even to her it felt fake.

Jim sat in the chair, staring out into the black beyond the viewscreen. Nyota didn't want to look. She already knew they were one crack away from oblivion.

She gave Jim's shoulder what was supposed to be a comforting squeeze in passing. She didn't know if it was for his sake or for hers. He didn't move, or acknowledge her presence, but she didn't mind. She was already gone.

* * *

><p>For the first time in his life, Jim understood Bones' fear of space. Back at the academy, on solid ground, with an atmosphere that wasn't going to evaporate at any second, he had dismissed it as an irrational fear. Not quite unlike the ones little kids had. Fear of the dark and all that.<p>

But staring at the cracked viewscreen, Jim finally understood. He was glad they were traveling at impulse speed. Even at warp factor three, the glass might not have held up. It could crack and shatter and send them all streaking into the black before you could say, "Punch it."

Death was ten feet in front of him. Death lurked all around him. Images of the massacre over Vulcan lurked behind his eyelids, waiting until he closed them to jump out and smack him in the face. The memory of a planet closing in on itself played hide and seek with the rest of his brain, screaming BOO! whenever he let his guard down and relaxed.

He had just watched a planet_ die. An entire planet. Gone._

His breath hitched and Jim shuddered. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of every thought. _No._ This was Bones' fear. Not his. He knew what he signed up for. Causalities were bound to happen.

But not in those numbers. Not that quickly—that mercilessly.

"Sulu, you have the conn."

It wasn't fair, he knew. Sulu was just as worn out and deserving of a break as much as himself, if not even more. But Jim...Jim needed to get out. He could order Sulu to take a break when he got back, he promised himself.

But for now, he fled.

* * *

><p>He killed her.<p>

Pavel wasn't fast enough, and his first officer's mother died because of it.

He could still hear the quiet hum of the transporter. Still see her shape slowly forming on the pad. For a second he believed she was all right, that he had succeeded in beaming them all out. Every single one.

But then she disappeared right in front of him. Her signal blinked out—just another light on the board.

Billions of people had died in the Narada Incident. Half of the entire Federation fleet was destroyed, a planet consumed without so much as a speck of dust left behind. By now, even the debris from the fleet was completely gone. Sucked into the black hole that used to be Vulcan.

She was just another name on the list of the dead. But a name he felt personally responsible for.

Pavel gathered the blankets closer, huddling deeper into their warmth. He could still see the empty pad when he closed his eyes.

* * *

><p>Leonard didn't sleep.<p>

There were too many things to do. Too many patients suffering and not enough staff to help them all. Two thirds of the nursing staff had been blown to bits while he was off gallivanting through the rest of the ship. He didn't miss the fact that if Jim hadn't taken off when he did, they both would have been dead by now.

Not that it would have mattered, because everyone else would be gone too.

Captain Pike was another matter all together. He spent eighteen hours in critical condition while Leonard had dug around inside him trying to fix whatever the Romulans had ripped apart. Now, Leonard could only watch and wait for any sign that would tell him the captain was going to live.

Rubbing his eyes, the doctor set the PADD back in its tray hanging beside Pike's bed.

An ensign had died under his hands that night. He recognized the girl. Jim had taken her out once, right before everything went to hell and all the days blended into one. Leonard had run beside her stretcher, holding her hand and lying about things that could never be fine until her eyes dulled beneath the harsh lights.

She was just one of the seemingly millions he would treat only to have them slip into the void when he wasn't looking.

It was a horrible way to die.

Leonard took a shaky breath. Silence reigned in the captain's "room." They were separated from the rest of sickbay by a plastic curtain that hid most of the carnage, but Leonard could still see it. It was burned into his brain like Johanna's smile or the feeling of Jocelyn's lips on his. And it would haunt him like his (ex) wife's expression as she handed him the papers.

The silence was broken with a shrill alarm and a cry of "Doctor McCoy!"

* * *

><p>The hull was twisted and burnt, but Hikaru could still read the black letters spelling out <em>U.S.S. Farragut<em> across the metal. His friends were assigned to that ship. He had checked the list a few days later. None of them survived.

He barely heard Kirk's rasp of "Sulu, you have the con," before the acting captain practically flew off the bridge.

To be honest, Hikaru hadn't really believed Kirk's story when the cadet first tore onto the bridge, but it only took a three-second countdown for all his doubts to be blown away. Literally.

Now, he was certain the image of the _Farragut_ floating in pieces around them would never leave him alone.

It was terrifyingly beautiful, with the golden light of Vulcan's sun illuminating the carnage like the lights in a small bar, sending bright streaks dancing across the black canvas of space. For a horrifying moment Sulu was reminded of the twenty-first century films he and his siblings used to watch. Back then the world had practically worshiped violence, various film companies competing against one another to see who could create the most destructive scene imaginable.

What he saw a few days ago blew all those holovids out of the water.

The turbolift swished open, and Kirk stepped out. His eyes caught Hikaru's, and he jerked his head towards the door, mouthing "It's an order."

Even though he had a feeling the _Farragut_ would haunt him tonight, Sulu headed for his quarters.

* * *

><p>There was something to be said for finding yourself in the center of a hallway without remembering how you got there. This was Leonard's problem now.<p>

Vaguely, he reasoned it was the lack of sleep doing its job, but aside from a good night's sleep there was nothing he could do about that. He staggered around, trying to remember what he was doing and why he was here.

Right. He was supposed to be heading to his quarters. But where the hell was this?

He stopped, swaying slightly in the middle of the corridor. It was the peak of Gamma shift and the lights were dimmed, adding blindness to his already double vision. He blinked, and even for that brief second it felt so nice to have his eyes closed. Would it be so bad if he just slept on his feet right here?

Suddenly he felt himself falling. With a soft grunt he threw out his hands to catch himself, but he never hit the floor. A strong pair of arms wrapped around his torso, steadying him on his feet, and remaining even when he stopped swaying.

His cloudy brown eyes met a pair of electric blue ones, and Jim's face doubled and tripled before him.

"Whoa, Bones," The idiot's mouth was moving, but Leonard barely heard what he was saying. "As convenient as it is, the floor is not a comfy place to crash. Trust me, I say this from experience."

Leonard thought he only grunted in response, but Jim smirked as he slung the doctor's arm over his shoulder, so something else must have come out.

The loss of your brain-to-mouth filter was one of the symptoms of fatigue, and for good reason.

They started stumbling back down the hallway, Jim leading the way, because McCoy had no sense of direction right now. He wondered if Jim knew where they were going, but quickly dismissed the thought because this is the kid who practically memorized the layout of every ship in the fleet. Of course he would know where they were going.

Jim was silent on the way there, which was unusual, and by the time McCoy noticed it, he was already punching in the code to his or Bones' room. Leonard didn't know which. "You okay, kid?" he slurred.

Jim glanced at him as he lead his friend into the room. "Yeah," he said a bit too quickly.

But it wasn't his words that captured Leonard's attention, it was the acting captain's expression. Or, lack of it. He looked like a Vulcan, minus the ears.

"N'you're not."

Jim didn't answer, just tugged on McCoy's sleeve and plopped him onto the bed. But McCoy didn't lie down, like a good little boy. He knew something was wrong, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why.

"Jim."

Narada had had its effect on everyone. Leonard knew this more than anyone. He saw it in the blood coating a bio bed, and in the lifeless bodies lining the medbay. He saw it in the debris surrounding Vulcan. He saw it in the eyes of frantic crewmen who miraculously made it all in one piece—at least physically. Nobody was spared, not even the first officer.

He stared at Jim, his vision suddenly righting itself, so he could clearly see the pain etching his friend's face. His fatigue was gone, and all that was left was the desire to help him in any way he could, because godammit he's a doctor. That's what he does.

Jim collapsed onto the bed beside his, the breath leaving his lungs in one soft whoosh. He rubbed at his eyes and fidgeted a bit before finally meeting Bones' gaze.

"I'm working it out."

Leonard nodded, because the room was starting to spin against his will and those pillows underneath Jim's head looked like heaven.

Jim chuckled when he noticed McCoy's longing gaze. It was the happiest sound Leonard had heard since this "rescue" mission started.

* * *

><p>Hikaru found Pavel in the mess hall. Chekov sat at one of the many empty tables, absently twirling lettuce around his fork and staring at the wall.<p>

His eyes lost their blank look when Hikaru set his tray on the table and sat across from him.

"I couldn't sleep," Sulu explained at the navigator's quizzical look.

Pavel nodded, and Sulu abruptly noticed the bags under his eyes. He looked years older than his meager seventeen, and Hikaru wanted to punch whoever thought it was a good idea to throw a kid who should be in high school into a circus like this.

It wasn't right. Nobody should be forced to grow up overnight. Hikaru had no doubt that Pavel would be having nightmares of Narada for years to come. As it was, even Sulu couldn't fall asleep without waking on the verge screaming.

Sulu didn't have much of an appetite to begin with, but now it was completely gone, replaced with the urge to vomit. He poked at his soup with the spoon, frustrated.

The kid should be out partying. He should have friends his own age, maybe even a girlfriend. He should have a car with dents in the doors from too many bad ideas. He should be doing anything but dealing with the aftermath of the most destruction and death the galaxy has ever known.

It was wrong on so many levels.

Hikaru let his eyes roam the mess hall, lingering on a deck of cards on the table beside them.

He turned back to Chekov who was staring at his salad as though it held the deeper mysteries of life. The navigator looked up when Sulu cleared his throat.

"Have you ever played Old Maid?"

* * *

><p>Nyota found him in his quarters—where she hoped he would be—but he wasn't sleeping. Instead, he sat on the edge of his bed, his ramrod straight back facing the door...and her. Uhura slipped into the room and settled down beside him, all the weight of the past four days compounding and threatening to crush her.<p>

But for all the fear and sadness and anger she felt, she knew Spock felt it ten times more. He had lost the woman who gave birth to him, who cared for him, who wiped the tears off his cheeks when the other Vulcans teased him. She loved him when no one else would, and no matter what he chose she would always hold that love. But now that woman was gone from his life forever. Nothing Nyota had experienced in her short life could ever compare to that.

Gingerly, she fingered his hand into hers, and the touch brought his eyes as well.

Despite renouncing emotion and spending decades following the Vulcan way, his face showed a surprising amount of emotion—if you knew what to look for. Tonight his eyes were large and glassy, his face blank and yet hurting at the same time.

She grasped his hand more firmly and gently leaned into his large frame. He seemed to melt beside her, all the pain and terror catching up to him in one suffocating wave.

She never said anything, and neither did he. They didn't use words or phrases, not because of the fear of what they might do to the other, but because they simply didn't need them.

She didn't know how long they remained like that—two souls brought closer by pain and fear—but she didn't care.

* * *

><p><em>Together, they coped.<em>


End file.
